


Shadowy Silhouette

by iwilltry_tocarryon



Category: Revolution (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwilltry_tocarryon/pseuds/iwilltry_tocarryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the 2X17 episode with an added slight Charloe twist (inspired by Andrew Belle songs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowy Silhouette

_This is the starting of my fall from grace_   
_My self-esteem, oh it's seen better days_

Things on the surface aren't always as they appear. There's a depth perception that cannot be perceived. It's like when you judge the depth of a river from the bank, perched at an elevated height during the brightest hour of the day. You can see the sunshine penetrating straight down, illuminating the bottom for your naked eye to see. It's in that moment you decide the water isn't really that deep. It isn't until you're buried from the waist down, flopping at the water trying to stay afloat that you realize how deceiving light can be. It smiles its widening rays down upon you, blinding you with warmth to where you don't complain. You don’t question. You don't even recognize. The light of day is a cunning, clever bitch that manipulates you into thinking the water isn't deep until you're halfway submerged in it. 

Charlie has no idea how deep she's in, gradually sinking to the bottom. She uses the light to deal, to cope, that’s what she’s been taught to do. Just look at the role models she's been following. Her mother might as well have been the goddamn sun itself; trying too hard to brighten everything when ultimately all she was doing was entrapping everyone. Taking away their sight, their judgement. 

Fleeting, the light of day is preceded by blackness, offering a striking contrast to luminosity of light before. There's that same river you approach, only everything has changed. There's no glamour of light encompassing it. There's no pretty little trick to make you believe the water is shallower than it really is. The darkness doesn't try to fool you by blinding you. The darkness lays all the cards out on the table for you to make a play. It tells you upfront that there will be no magic tricks. What you see is what you get in the darkness. And maybe it isn't as glamorous as the daytime, but at least it isn't smiling as it watches you drown. 

Charlie could feel herself falling further into the clutches of darkness. And if her mother was the sun, it wasn’t hard to guess who the darkness was. Her mind started crying out immediately on instinct, but nothing escaped the prison of her mouth. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be saved. She wasn’t sure it wasn’t where she belonged.

The sound of guns cocking back as they were loaded formed a melody floating through the air. Not a particularly upbeat and happy tune, but a song nonetheless that shook her from her reverie. 

None of those sounds were louder than the anger thumping through her body, pounding relentlessly at her heart. She was seething with rage, reflecting back to earlier when Monroe basically said she had no business leading. And maybe she didn’t, but that sure as hell didn’t mean she wanted Monroe to be the one to tell her.

Speak of the Devil, Bass couldn’t help but beam with pride as Connor lead them, but that smile quickly vanished when Rachel came into view. Blabbing something about waiting for Miles.

He spent his whole life waiting for Miles and where did that get him? 

No, he was done waiting on Miles. “I’ve got the men I need Rachel, don’t have to listen to you anymore.” Honestly he didn’t listen to her in the first place.

The frown further imprinted his face when the corner of his eye caught a familiar blur of blonde hair swinging towards them gun in hand. There was honestly nothing more intoxicating than Charlotte Matheson, but throw in a gun and she was a living, breathing, manifestation of Bass’ every desire.

The frown wasn’t sitting pretty on his face because he was having very improper thoughts about a woman half his age, who just so happened to be his best friend’s niece. It was there because he felt his heart sharply contracting when he realized she was coming, but he should’ve figured.

She said something to Rachel, but the determined look in her eyes never left as she strode forward.

Bass’ feet slowed down on their own accord, falling back until she was at his side. “What, decided sitting on your ass and twiddling your thumbs wasn’t the most productive use of your time?”

“Just figured it you were going to lead these men to slaughter I might as well offer myself up,” she coldly stated, not even bothering to look at him as she picked up her pace.

Bass did a double take when the calloused words sliced through his skin. “Didn’t take you for the suicidal type,” he inquired curiously, easily keeping pace.

“I’m not suicidal, I’m just realistic,” she half shrugged. Those were parallels words she used when Connor had started sprouting off some bullshit about hope or faith. She tried that in the beginning, she tried sticking to the light. It was blinding and got her nowhere. Seemed like this was the most effective method, though it was also the most destructive, both physically and mentally.

He didn’t say anything for a few moments because he had no idea what to say. A pissed off, judgmental, and bossy Charlie he could handle any day, but a hopeless one was beyond him. He could’ve started bullshitting, but she was too smart for that. She would’ve known instantly that he wasn’t buying what he was trying to sell.

Instead he grabbed her elbow, veering her off to the side as he watched a genuine reaction flash across her face, the first one he had seen in days. At least he knew she still possessed feelings.

“What the hell are you doing?” She tugged at her elbow, trying to draw it further into her body but his grip tightened.

“Look this isn’t healthy,” he started before realizing how full of shit that sounded.

Apparently Charlie agreed because she snorted. “Please, spare me the lecture about ‘healthy things’ as you march those men into what could be their death. I don’t need a lesson in self-esteem or—“

“You’re not getting a lesson,” he snapped his teeth together, grinding them to keep from blowing up at her. “What I meant was this attitude isn’t healthy. You go in there with ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude and you’ll get yourself killed. You gotta stay focused, keep your head in the game. But most importantly, you have to not give up, and with the way you sound, you might as well lie down and die right now.” 

“I’m not giving up,” she all but bared her teeth at him when she growled.

“Then don’t act like it. If you wanna roll over and die at least wait until you’re on Miles’ watch.” He saw the way her eyes widened at his blunt tone, but he didn’t have time to explain. Making her pissed off and angry was at least better than her going in there with an apathetic mindset, not caring if she lived or not.

It worked all too well. The mask slipped onto Charlie’s face, “well I’m glad to know how valuable my life is as long as I don’t throw myself in front of a bullet on your watch everything is peachy.”

Ripping her elbow from his grasp, she spun on her heels, rapidly strolling forward to get away from him. She wasn’t pissed at what he said, well only a little, but she was pissed that he called her out on her attitude. That’s exactly what it felt like. It felt like she had already given up. She said once that she would give them hell, and at the time she meant it, but now there was no weight to hold those words up.

There was nothing, emptiness, all up until a few moments ago. Now there was fury.

Bass offered no remorse for the things he has done, for the destruction created by his bare hands and his crude mouth, for the blood he had shed. Not because he didn’t feel the least bit of sympathy, but because it had to be done and there was no use crying over the rubble when the damage was done.

His eyes and mind skirted over towards Charlie’s direction for the first few minutes of the fight, but after that he had to pry his eyes away. He gave her a lecture about saying focused when he was anything but.

They came out victorious, if by victorious you meant all of their men didn’t die. That’s a win Bass would accept.

He could see a body withering on the ground, sucking in a few measly shallow puffs of air as their muscles twitched. They weren’t clinging on to life, they were desperately trying to throw themselves over the cliff but they just needed the extra push, and if no one else was going to do it Bass would.

Aiming his gun, he flicked the trigger back, not even blinking when the sound exploded around, force hitting the guy square in the face as his head thudded against the cold, hard ground.

Wiping the back of his mouth, collecting the pools of sweat that had gathered there, he turned his head, eyes catching a glimpse of light. It was an overpowering, nagging, persistent glare, reminding him of what he would never be, what he once was. It was a dull, hazy glow that flickered sporadically. Like it was a heartbeat, always gaining speed when trouble arose but eventually tapered off into a soft glimmer.

Charlie stood perched on a hill, just slightly above where Bass was, peering straight into his eyes, getting lost in the intense gaze he always offered. She said nothing when she saw him take the shot, mostly because she had nothing to say, nothing good anyway.

What was she going to say? That he was a murderer? That he shot that man in cold blood? That’s what she should’ve been saying, hell, that’s probably what the old Charlie would’ve said. The one who wouldn’t even let Miles kill someone who was hunting them down. But this Charlie couldn’t find those words; they weren’t even dangling on her tongue, if anything they were comfortably suctioned to the back of her throat. 

The other reason she couldn’t say those things is because she had no genuine idea what she would’ve done if the roles were reversed. She would’ve liked to think she would’ve extended a metaphorical hand to help the suffering guy, but maybe the only way to help was to put him out of his goddamn misery.

Still, the disgusted expression rippled, dragging a tremble up her body along the way, as it planted on her face.

Bass didn’t miss the way her eyes darted over to the body, then back to him.

He wanted to go to her immediately and asked her what the hell her problem was. But he didn’t, he watched as she turned her back and simply walked away.

She had nothing to say. She just had to get away from the scene and clean herself up. Her lungs anxiously awaited a fresh gulp of air, and it wasn’t until left that she was able to inhale. Her body sprang to life, oxygen ambushing the cavity of her chest as she set about ridding herself of the remnants of battle cemented on her living carcass.

Charlie scrubbed mercilessly at the blood coating her hands and splattered on her chest and face only stopping momentarily when her mother interrupted. 

Frustrated, as soon as Rachel left, Charlie threw the rag down, leaning against the railing as her head tipped down. Slow, steady gulps of air flowed through her nose, but it was hard to synchronize with the feel of her heart rapidly pulsing.

There was still blood all over. She could feel it vibrating her skin, igniting the fire inside even more.

She went right back to scratching her skin. Watching as it turned red, blood being drawn to the surface as a way to compensate for the blood she spilled. The blood she took from others.

Even after her mother’s speech she couldn’t find it in her to say that this was the wrong move to make. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But was it the wrong move because it was Monroe who was leading them? No. If he hadn’t, Charlie couldn’t say for sure that she wouldn’t have.

_You see the part you played_   
_All the silhouettes you’ve made_   
_Fleet the light of Day_

_I wish I was innocent in a bad way_   
_But I’ve found_   
_You don’t come after soldiers_   
_Unless they were yours in the first place_

“I’m not in the mood to go another round with you,” she sighed, not looking up as she felt someone creep up in front of her. She assumed it was her mother, wanting to dig at her open wounds again. She got a surprise when she heard Bass’ voice instead.

“Just going around checking, making sure everyone is still in one piece,” he offered as a pathetic excuse. Really he just wanted to see her. To show her he wasn’t a total monster, he could still care, about her anyway.

Her eyes shifted up but only for a split second. Then they were back down as she grumbled, “yep. So you can leave now.”

Tucking his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels, almost like he was nervous. Sebastian Monroe didn’t get nervous, especially not around women. He cleared his throat, “you did good today.”

“Great. If I need recommendations from a washed up, has been for my next leadership job I’ll direct them to you,” she dryly commented.

A growl ripped through his throat, “didn’t I tell you to watch your mouth.”

"I'm not some solider you can order around and snap your fingers at. I don't belong to you,” she snarled, looking up at him for the first time. “I wouldn’t send them to you anyway. Honestly I think you’re a terrible leader, I mean just look at where the Republic ended up. Hell I probably could’ve done a better job, but it’s all about experience right? Experience in the art of killing and not batting an eyelash. Experience in the art of not flinching when you drain the life out of someone’s body, or peel weapons from their still warm grip—“

“Well if it’s those types of experiences then you’ve would’ve made a damn good leader Charlie. Everyone would’ve laid their life down to fight for you,” he sarcastically rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well I doubt their fighting for you and your cause. Considering you don’t even know what you’re fighting for." She snapped.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," he bitterly laughed. "I'm fighting for the same reason you are, although I don't try to dress it up and make it prettier than it seems."

Her body went on the defense, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. Because you've been taught that killing is different when you can justify it. When you can rationalize it in your mind. If you don't look at them like people but instead faceless soldiers. When it makes sense to you, it isn't murder, it's justice," he sneered as she recoiled from the blow. 

"At least I don't go around murdering innocent people, not caring who gets in my way. Just whacking my way through the field of live bodies."

"I don't give a damn about other people Charlotte. I did at one point, but someone showed me that the world isn't a pretty place."

Those words stung down to the core. She remembered thinking the same thing. The world wasn't a bunch of pretty postcards. 

"I care about being the last person standing at the end of the day. I care about giving my son something he can be proud of." He chuckled, "I care about Miles even though I shouldn't give a fuck." He shook his head, "and for some damn reason I care about you."

When those words catapulted from his mouth her eyes zeroed in on his commanding gaze. 

"So yeah Charlotte, I'm just whacking my way through the weeds and crushing everything that falls underneath my feet. You can hate me all you want, but at the end of the day I'll be alive and you'll be alive because I don't give a fuck about being liked. I don't do things for the greater good of multiple people. I'm not a martyr," not like Miles has turned into. He didn't say the words aloud but the thought seeped out, spilling onto the canvas of his tongue. 

“Better a martyr than a killer,” she ignored the pitter-patter in her heart when he openly confessed that for some reason he gave a damn about her. It was harder to try to hate him if she thought of him as anything other than a monster that had no feelings, but it was obvious he wasn’t.

Bass chuckled putting not even the slightest bit of humor behind it. “Seems to me you’ve chosen your path already without any help,” he jerked his head down, indicating her tinted red hands.

Charlie’s palms balled into fists, “well at least I didn’t have to use Duncan’s death as a way to rally people on my side—“

Bass had about all he could take of her mouth. Within seconds he crossed the threshold, kicking the bucket out of the way as Charlie stood, backing away until she hit the railing. Bass never once faltered in his ferocious strides until they were toe to toe, his trembling body visibly shaking. Charlie could see his hand flexing at his side so tight his knuckles were whitening.

“Don’t,” his voice shook with rage, “fucking mention Duncan. You don’t know a goddamn thing about her.”

Charlie held her chin high, refusing to let him intimidate her. “I don’t have to know her, I know you. I know you used her in New Vegas to try to get those mercenaries we needed.”

He was genuinely stunned at what she was insinuating. He thought for a minute she was referring to his first time in New Vegas, even then it wasn’t him doing the using. If anything, that was all Duncan.

A dark thought crept into his mind, “I didn’t fuck Duncan if that’s what you’re inferring, not that time anyway, although now it all makes more sense.”

He was baiting her, and she willingly chomped at it. “What makes sense?”

“The reason you screwed my son,” he smugly declared.

“Oh geez, not this again,” she rolled her eyes, trying to shove him aside, but his chest was like a brick wall. Too sturdy to be moved by the force of her hand alone, “he was there, I was bored.”

“No,” he confidently asserted, “you were angry and that’s the deadliest sin of all. You felt this rage building up inside of you until the pressure got to be too much. The only options were to fuck or fight. If anyone understands that it’s me.”

She huffed, “then why do you keep bringing it up?”

“Because you’re still just as angry, coiled up and hissing, waiting to strike at the first person you run across.” His eyes sparkled in realization, “that’s why you threw yourself into this fight. You figured if you couldn’t fuck it out of your system you’d fight it out, but that didn’t help either. So that only leaves one other explanation. Either he didn’t do it right,” his eyes involuntarily darted down to her lips, “or he wasn’t what you were looking for.”

He hit the jackpot, unlocking the secret she tucked away far from sight. There was a reason she tried so hard to keep it buried deep inside.

She could feel the skin of his knuckle brush against the brand. His brand. 

Involuntarily her body shuddered, igniting the entire surface of her skin in the process. The sting had long faded. Only the mark itself remained, buried into her bone. But that didn't mean that it wasn't alive. 

It roared to life with a burning sensation every time he was near. Like it could sense his presence. Like it knew that she was connected to him deeper than just by a miniscule marking. Like she was his.

“I could prove to you that I’m right,” his sickeningly sweet voiced broke her out of her trance. “But I won’t. If you want me, you’re going to have to be the one to ask. I’m done chasing after Mathesons. I won’t be some kind of pawn in your game.”

She snorted, “Right because you’re the innocent one here.”

“I’m far from innocent, but then again, so is everyone here. Don’t delude yourself into thinking anyone is innocent anymore. No one is. Period.”

He didn’t include Charlie in the list, but he didn’t have to. She knew because she had already thought the same thing.

No one is innocent. No one is innocent. 

Those words kept replaying over and over in her mind on persistent repeat. He was right. No one was innocent. She had convinced herself that there was still some innocence left in her, but that’s all it was, a delusion. 

She was innocent in the way that the blood on her hands had faded, barely even recognizable anymore. They were clean, just like new. But she could still feel the caked on residue of dried blood slowly seeping into her skin. She was as innocent as the next person on the surface when the daylight caught the blonde strands of her hair, glistening in the sun. It created a luminous halo that engulfed her body. 

The light from her body created a silhouette casting a proud shadow following every step she made with careful precision and composure. The silhouette gracefully fluttered at her side making her look like some kind of angel.

At night was when the wings were torn from her back, the halo ripped from on top of her perfectly poised head by the Devil of the Night. Swiftly he stripped her of her daytime innocence. The darkness blanketing over her swallowed the golden aura, surrounding her body, whole. 

The maddening ebony blackness draped over her was when the silhouette retreated. It dared not enter the dark forest, opting instead to creep as close as possible, standing erect as it waited for her to come back. 

But she never missed its comforting presence. Because there was solace even in the dark. It wasn't in the form of a familiar, tag a long shadow, mirroring her every move, copy even better than the original. The companion in the nightfall wasn't the outline of a figure. It wasn’t the ghost of her innocence past. It was a tangible and real body. 

The Devil of the Night, her comfort, and her darkness were all the same person. They were all Sebastian Monroe.


End file.
